


To the dreamers go the dreams (but the leaders have the lead)

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen months is a long time and Harry procrastinates and Louis has a mental breakdown which includes the Smothors Brothers and Molly from the barber shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the dreamers go the dreams (but the leaders have the lead)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Guster's _Manifest Destiny_
> 
> YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO READ THIS, MADI.

~*~

"Why'd you let me believe him?" Louis whispers. The phone line crackles and he presses the receiver closer to his ear. 

"I can't-- I _promised_ , Lou, I wouldn't--"

"He lied and you _let_ him? Who gives a flying fuck about you promising not to tell?"

"I do, I wasn't about-- listen, Louis, just drop it, he told you eventually anyway, didn't he? You know now? What difference does it make if you knew any sooner?"

Louis gnaws on his bottom lip. "I don't know," he says in a small voice. Why is it suddenly like his throat is closing in on itself? "Maybe I could have-- could have--"

"Louis..."

"I'm sorry," he chokes. "I'll see you later, Liam, I've got to--"

"Lou," Liam entreats but Louis hangs up.

Liam doesn't call back. 

~*~

Louis doesn't leave the house for a few days. It feels foreign and not nearly as warm without Harry sitting in his ratty chair, without Harry pressing his glasses back onto his nose as he reads in the kitchen, without Harry snoring softly in the mornings when Louis has to wake up for work, without Harry kissing Louis softly when he walks in after a long day at the studio. 

Its feels sort of terrifying, somehow.

Like the empty rooms will swallow him up. 

~*~

Eventually, it seems his friends give up on the pretense of giving him space. Zayn is the first to come over, with groceries and a Monty Python box set and the Smothors Brothers tapes. 

"Hi," Zayn says when Louis lets him in. 

"Hey," Louis says, and his voice cracks from unuse. 

Zayn looks at him out of the corner of his eye strangely. He lets out a very long, obvious, Zayn-like sigh and then trods into the tiny kitchen and dumps the groceries over the floor. He picks up the perishables and stuffs them half heartedly into the fridge and then turns to face Louis, who is standing, watching, arms crossed, and feet bare of the cold tile.

"You can't hide like this," he says to Louis, and Louis just watches his toes curl from the cold.

"I know," and he voice is ashamedly timid. 

"He's with Liam," Zayn pushes, and Louis winces. 

"Yeah."

Zayn pauses. Louis knows he's deciding what will be best for Louis, and he wonders how Zayn would know when _Louis_ doesn't even know what's best for Louis. 

"C'mon." Zayn says finally, puts the old tape in the beaten radio on the windowsill. "Smothors Brothers with me?" 

A few radio shows later, Louis's chest feels a little lighter. 

~*~

It's not long before it's weighted again, though. He finds it, even after he's sworn that its been thrown away. He picks it up, and stares at it for a long moment. 

Twenty minutes later he throws it off of the rocky ledge, watches it fall into the lake, and curls into himself from the harsh wind. 

He is still in the pajamas that he was in the day Harry told him.

~*~

He wishes Harry hadn't told him two weeks before Christmas.

Before his birthday.

On December 24th, its drafty and he's alone. His mother calls, and Daisy and Lottie and Fizzy and Phoebe all say hello, happy birthday, we love you Lou, and Jay says honey and darling a lot. When the girls have gone, she says sorry, Boo, we love you, it will be okay, he'll be back before you know it. 

Louis doesn't really know if that's true. 

~*~

The next day, the lads invite him over for Christmas dinner and his usual collaboration of Christmas-birthday presents. 

He comes over and when he looks around, there are only three of them there. 

He tells himself the reason he deflates is because the star on top of the tree is crooked. 

It's not that Harry isn't there. 

(Harry would have fixed the star on the top of the tree, though.)

~*~

Niall invites him out the Tuesday after Christmas for drinks, and Louis can't deny. He's felt awfully empty during the past few lonely weeks in the empty flat while Harry stays with Liam. He tells Niall so. 

"He left," Louis slurs, tipping dangerously to his left on the barstool. He's always been a ridiculously lightweight drinker. "Ees gone, and you _bastards_ ," he hiccups,"have been hiding'im away."

"Lou-Lou dear, he's. Not left yet. Not. He went to Ed's, now, but, today, he told me to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Louis feels much more drunk now, and yet so, so sober. Feels sort of ripped up inside. He wants to hear Harry's voice again. 

"He's comin' to the flat, tomorrow. You know-- get 'is stuff, or, " he gives Louis the most pointed look a man can give after five drinks, "-or not." 

"Or not," Louis echoes. It has a smudge of hope in it. 

Niall buys another round, and the last thing Louis remembers is crying himself to sleep for green eyes and soft, raspberry scented hair to breathe in. He chest heaves, and then darkness. 

~*~

Ideal. Louis wishes it were that way. He got a text a few minutes ago announcing Harry's arrival, 

Be there in an hour. X

It feels like something hopeful, like _or not_ , and Louis traces the x for what seems like forever but leaves him with fifty-five minutes to spare. 

He calls Liam. 

"Louis?"

"Liam," and Louis suddenly realizes he's hyperventilating. He also realizes that tomorrow is December thirtieth. Louis hasn't checked the calendar beside the phone in a while. That was Harry's job.

"What's wrong?" Now Liam sounds panicked. There is a vague question in Louis's mind of whether Liam knows what happens today or not. 

"Harry," he tries to say, but it sound like a pant, and he grasps at his chest while it tries to fill with air. "He coming coming coming Liam, and he'sleavingandIdon'twanthimto--"

"Calm down," Liam says. "Deep breaths, Lou. Do it. Please."

Louis does deep breaths and finds his heart not stuttering so much and his inhales growing longer and deeper, but his exhales sound like defeated sighs. It sort of makes the _or not_ and _x_ seem less hopeful, and smaller, much less infinite than originally.

"Liam," Louis squeaks. "What do I do?"

"Follow your heart," Liam says simply, as if it's _just that easy_. Louis has no idea what his heart wants, he doesn't even really know if he cares, especially if what his heart really wants has nothing to do with Harry. 

All he wants is Harry. 

"My heart," Louis sucks in a breath. "My heart. Right. Thanks."

"Don't be--" _Sarcastic_ Louis thinks as he hangs up.

~*~

Next he calls Stan. 

Stan doesn't pick up, the prick.

Then Molly from the barber shop.

Then Nick. Nick picks up. 

"Hey, buzzkill."

"Shut the fuck up Nick have you see Harry?" It's all once sentence. There is no transition whatsoever. Louis really doesn't care for Nick Grimshaw and transitioning in sentences right now, but Nick doesn't miss a beat. 

"All last week," he supplies lazily. "Been wonderin' where you were Tommo."

"Dunno," Louis says noncommitally. "Has he been at Ed's?"

 

"Why would he be there? Louis Tomlinson? The fuck--"

Louis hangs up and wonders what that means. What it means if Harry hasn't told _Grimshaw_ , his radio buddy and holder of all secrets that he hadn't been to his own flat in three weeks. 

~*~

Twenty minutes before Harry's scheduled arrival, Louis is spread eagled on the floor. His back is stiff, his arse cold, and he thinks he must need milk. Milk and maybe Haribo's and Captain Sunny Chips, plus several gallons of ice cream and some instant oatmeal. Maybe some paper plates. No, paper bowls. And Fakin' Bacon. 

Harry always hated Fakin' Bacon. 

He grabs his keys and locks the door behind him. 

~*~

Louis is wearing nothing but the pajama shirt he was wearing all those weeks ago, and some ugly old trackies, that may have been Harry's but he can't remember. 

"And I don't care," he says out loud. 

The checkout girl looks at him . Louis matches her gaze, daring, and probably wild eyed with panic, until she shrugs, scans the pickles and fig jam, which Louis had decided was also necessary, and snaps her gum. She tells him the total, and Louis blinks and fumbles for his wallet. 

As he leaves, feet bare, _again_ (where did his damn shoes go), he sees it. He swears its at the bottom of the lake, but even a goddamn poster can follow him wherever the fuck it wants, because Louis is cursed. 

Cursed and tired and defeated. 

~*~

"Harry Styles, wonder of this century, Greg! From Cheshire to international, is there some sort of magic involved?"

"No, Jon, he's just a charming twenty-two year old Brit--mind you, I've always had a thing for young British singers --"

Jon guffaws. "I'm sure he'd be all over you--"

It was at about this point that Louis had walked into the room where the radio was on. 

"But on a serious note, what's happening with him now? Where's our charming, lovable, curly haired hipster artist now? Planning on doing something wih his newfound fame?"

"I believe so, Greg. Harry Styles is actually doing a charity run soon, with Ed Sheeran and their usual gang-"

"HARRY!" Louis had shouted, giddy and filled with pride, "Harry, you're on the radio!"

"What?" Harry tripped over his own sock feet into the room, grin splitting his face. 

"The radio, fucking BBC talk--"

Harry whooped and brought Louis in, hauling him up and pressing his lips to his boyfriend's. Sparks flew in Louis's tummy, and he reached to wrap his arms around Harry's neck, tilted his head just so, and opened his mouth just as Harry's tongue flicked out, hot and wet. Harry was sucking his bottom lip when the radio came into focus again. He pulled back, smirking at Harry's whine, and buried his face into Harry's neck. 

"Take this somewhere else?" he murmured breathily into Harry's neck, a wet patch forming where his breath hits. 

"Yeah," Harry all but moaned. He hefted Louis up by the thighs, and Louis wrapped his feet around Harry's waist, hooking his feet.

Suddenly, he hears it. 

"--but Harry Styles on a tour, from where?"

His body tensed, eyes wide on Harry's shoulder, and he could feel Harry freeze too. 

"England first, of course, can't be rude--" laughter, "then Ireland, Scottsy, France 'n _Deutschland_ , if I'm correct, and I believe I am; in about three months there'll be the Americas tour, that he named 'Dear Lover, Missing You Sweetly'. "

"A poet after my own heart!" Jon swoons and cackles. "What a catch! Hope he can survive those wild ladies for _thirteen months_ in New York or summat! Whoop!"

Suddenly the radio turned off. Harry's hand was white where it clenches around the remote. 

There is only the rain pattering on the roof. 

"Thirteen months?" Louis croaked. He unhooked his ankles and slid slowly to the floor. He felt numb. Like he's been to the doctor's office and can't quite feel his face anymore. He's not able to do anything but imagine nine months without Harry. 

Harry is tense and quiet and pale. "Yeah," he whispers. 

"Since when?" Louis voice is cold and he feels so absolutely inadequate right now. 

Harry swallows. There is a long, long silence. "Two months ago."

Louis hisses and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. He wishes he could pull his eyes out right now. Wishes he could time travel. Wishes he could forget. Wishes he could die.

"Lou--"

"What?" he spits it out like venom, and Harry flinches. 

"I was going to tell you, next week--"

"Well, when does it begin? Tell me Harry, when do you _fucking leave_?"

Harry has the grace to stare at his feet, fingers twitching. Breaths shallow.

"January. January the-- the second."

Louis feels like the air's been knocked out of him. His toes curl and suddenly the world feels very out of balance and he falls back. Thank god Harry's chair being there to catch him. 

"Lou." Harry squeaks. His feet move forward, eyes worried and warm, and for the first time Louis doesn't embrace it. Doesn't know what to do with it. 

"And you planned on telling me _next week_." Louis is so distant, but so cold, so absolutely furious that he had to learn from the radioidiots, not his own boyfriend. Two months. Two godfucking months ago. 

"Oh, my god," he pressed his palms to his eyes again, until he sees fireworks behind his eyelids. "Oh my. Fuck. Fuck." He chokes. 

"Louis," Harry entreated, voice thick with tears Louis cannot see behind his hands. "Oh god, Lou, I'm sorry, I should have--"

"Yeah, you should have," Louis cut him off sharply. He waited for his head to deflate. It hurt like hell. "When." He had lifted his palms from his eyes. Everything was blue and spotty. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You-- the first time," Harry had whispered, pulling at his bracelets and Louis wanted to rip them off. "--the first time I tried, it was October, and we were at dinner and you were so goddamn happy, talking about Thanksgiving and how you'd already started planning our New Year's party, and god, I couldn't ruin that." His voice was soft and it trembled.

"So. A-and then it was two days after Thanksgiving, and you were tired and making cider with brandy, and I was going to say, but you-- you made this face and said, 'If anything else goes wrong, I would just-'" Harry choked. Tears are sliding down both of their faces now. 

"You don't." Louis whispered. "You don't just--" he voice cracks and suddenly he loses it. "Fucking-- just, just _get away_ from me, I can't deal with you right now, I- " he inhales sharply and slumps in the chair and covers his eyes. He feels Harry's feet come toward him and screams, go away, go away _right now_ Harry, _please_.

And eventually, Harry did.

~*~

The poster flutters in the bitter December wind. It's of Harry, of course, guitar slung over his slim shoulder and resting on his slim hip. His legs are long and gangly and it seems like the poster has to stretch to fit him in it. 

_Harry Styles_

_Dear Lover, Missing You Sweetly tour! Tickets at the Brigaband now!_

Louis throws that poster away too, as he walks by. 

~*~

He sticks his key in the lock, turns, and it jams. He lets out a string of curses, because fuck it if he's going to get stuck outside of his flat as Harry walks up. Finally, it comes loose and swings flush open with a bang as it hits the opposite wall. 

Louis just sighs and puts his keys in the little wooden holder by the door. He stand there. It feels like he doesn't know where he should go. Where he should be when the doorbell rings. Finally, he closes the door behind him and steps tentatively into his living room, from there to the kitchen. 

He throws the groceries onto the counter and stares at the clock. It's a minute past the hours Harry had proposed and it takes a while before Louis realizes he is not breathing. 

Suddenly there is a thump-thump-thump and Louis turns to see a shaggy haired, tired-eyed Harry pulling a suitcase down the stairs. Louis must make some noise of surprise because Harry's head shoots up. 

His eyes are wide and beautifully green, and Louis hasn't seen them in three weeks. That's much too long for Louis. 

There is a long silence, where both stare like deer caught in headlights. The tension in the air thickens and grows heavy and pressing. Louis tries to swallow but can't, tries to say _Harry, don't go please, please, please_ but can't. Tries to breathe. But can't.

And then Harry's suitcase falls off of the last step with a clattering _thump_ that shocks both of them. With the adrenaline pulsing, Louis's big stupid mouth takes the chance to say, "Don't go!" at the same time that Harry's decides to say, "I'm staying."

"What?" Louis asks. His heart is in his throat and he feels like. God, he doesn't know what he feels like. 

"I." Harry looks at his feet. "I, um, changed the dates--the tour was moved forward. I have two more months before and I don't know if you'd want me, but if you do then I could stay here and if you don't then that's okay, I can stay somewhere else and I'm sorry really and--"

He is cut off by Louis's lips and the heavy thu-thud of both their heart mingling, and chests pressed against chests and the heat of lips and the slick of tongues and _god I'm so happy you're back_ and _god I'm so happy you_ want _me back_ , and the _you're stupid_ and the _I love you anyway_ and then, finally, the pulling pack and panting as their eyes meet. 

"Still missed you a whole fucking lot, you prick," Louis says. "Should'a told Jon and Greg to stuff it up their arse."

Harry laughs as that and nuzzles into Louis neck, and Louis can feel the anxious tremble behind it, ever present. "Uhm," Harry says, ever the one to express his thoughts fluently, " so? Are we? Good? I mean. I'm sorry. Really sorry. I just. Hate making you upset, I suppose. And is it okay, for now, I mean-- until March--"

Another press of heated lips cuts him off. "Yeah, curly," Louis whispers against his mouth and Harry mumbles something back before Louis presses harder. "What's that you said?" Louis asks into his mouth, distracted. 

Harry pulls back, soft smiles all around. "I said, I love you."

Louis grins. "I love you, too. Wish I didn't have to wait three weeks to say that."

"Agreed," Harry replies thoughtfully. "Three weeks is _far_ too long." Louis catches on, interrupts, "Now--" 

"--kiss me, you fool," Harry laughs, and Louis. Well. Louis doesn't argue. 

He feels that maybe this moment has lifted his cursedness and tiredness and defeatedness. 

Actually, he thinks he could rule the fucking world.


End file.
